


Transmogrification

by Paxdracona



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fanart, Fluff, M/M, Switching, Wingfic, and fanfic, body transformations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:26:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7815892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paxdracona/pseuds/Paxdracona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was Not A Good Day. First they manage to get themselves captured by a villain that seemed to have stepped straight out of a sodding Bond movie, and then said Bond movie villain does something skeevy and scify-y that results in both Harry and him sprouting some interesting new appendages. And then, of course, as the rotten icing on the shitty cake, they find out some switches in their base biology have also been fiddled with. Fucking A.</p><p>(Fic & art inside, rating will probably go up)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transmogrification

**Author's Note:**

  * For [concernedlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/concernedlily/gifts).



> For the amazing concernedlily! Your prompts gave me a lot of delightful ways to go, so I mixed and matched a few things. And, well, wings are my no.1 weakness. It's my first time ever writing and actually publishing a fic, so I doubly hope you like it! The rest will follow ASAP ♥

When Eggsy struggles back to consciousness, everything _hurts_ and he lets out a miserable groan with a throat that feels and sounds like he’s been gargling rocks.

“Yes, quite,” comes Harry’s familiar but exhausted-sounding voice and a jolt skitters through Eggsy’s body and urges him to struggle upright. “-wha’ the _fu’k”_ is what he spits out when _something_ attached to his back prevents his motion and he feels adrenaline rush into his bloodstream, sharpening his senses-

Strong hands grip his shoulders securely, and Eggsy’s eyes fly up to Harry’s face. Harry’s face, tired and lined and with a pad of gauze taped neatly to his temple, but with Kingsman’s medical bay looming behind and abruptly the adrenaline fizzles out, leaving him shaky. Safe, they’re safe.

“ _Harry_ , thank _fuck_ -” he starts, before his relief veers sharply into ‘what the actual shitting _Hell_?!’ Harry’s face is as familiar as his own in the mirror, as is the mildly exasperated tilt to his mouth as he says ‘ _manners_ , Eggsy’ in a tone that suggests he himself is not that invested in manners at this moment either, thanks very much.

Because the things he’d first registered as shadows are like, hovering stationarily above (behind?) Harry’s shoulders, moving in time with his breathing and looking alarmingly life-like, and while Eggsy gapes at them in astonishment they make this odd ruffling motion, looking weirdly _self-conscious_. “...okay, what the Hell did that overcompensating wanker give me,” Eggsy starts in a forcibly level voice, “because bruv, I’m like, hallucinating, I think.”

Harry’s hands loosen slightly, warm palms smoothing over Eggsy’s tensed biceps. He doesn’t even wrinkle his nose in distaste at the moniker, a sure sign something is Wrong. “...are you, perhaps, seeing appendages I’m not usually in possession of?”

Eggsy’s eyes fly to the- they’re wings, aren’t they, what the bleeding _shit_ \- involuntarily and he snaps his attention back to Harry’s steady amber gaze. “-what?” is what he croaks out, half convinced he’s somehow tripping balls and that Merlin is messing with him and gleefully recording everything and Harry is such a little shit, he _would_ play along wouldn’t he, and-

Harry reaches out behind him and Eggsy fucking squawks because by all rights Harry should be touching air but he’s _not_ because Eggsy can feel it. The muscles in his shoulders bunch involuntarily and he feels an alien pull on his shoulder blades so he whips his head around so fast he almost gives himself a whiplash.

“Careful,” Harry cautions, pitching his voice as to be heard over Eggsy’s panicked, foul-mouthed babbling as Eggsy snatches a handful of _feathers what the HELL_ , and something in his tone snags Eggsy’s attention in a way that is both familiar in its sense of fondness, and frankly alarming at the intensity of it.

It throws him abruptly back fuck-knows-how-many hours earlier, sitting side by side with Harry in a dark basement.

Villains and their _basements_ , Harry had sniffed acidly, rolling his eyes when they’d both woken up groggy and disoriented and frankly, mortally embarrassed to have been caught by a c-rated villain, gods. And Eggsy is a self-aware lad, he knows he’s ass over teakettle for Harry, he does. But watching his mentor discretely try to comb his mussed-looking hair back into place had never before triggered an almost irresistible desire to fucking _cuddle_ the man and comfort him. For God’s sake, Harry would probably dose him within a second, and deservedly, too.

Eggsy had dug his nails in his palms to control the frankly bizarre urge, only to be blindsided by a less-surprising wave of seething rage when Harry had turned his head and brought a nasty, bruised cut on his temple into view.

This was bad. “...’Arry,” he’d choked out but exactly then both their glasses- a bit scuffed but  still conveniently there, as were most of their more subtle gadgets- had started beeping.

“Galahad, Arthur,” Merlin had snapped in their ears, sounding, to the trained ear, frazzled, “I don’t know what they drugged you with, but it was potent; you were out for quite some time. How are you feeling?” He’d not given them any time to answer, though, instead pressing on urgently. “Your glasses have been transmitting, and I suspect they have injected you with an additional unknown drug while you were out.”

Eggsy had shared an assessing, alarmed glance with Harry while the clack-clack-clack of Merlin’s fingers flying over the keyboard started up in rapid-fire. “Their security systems were a nasty piece of work but I’ve got your location. Your extraction is being organised, ETA to be determined. Sit tight till then.” Static had signalled the end of the transmission.

And that was when things started to get a bit hazy in Eggsy’s mind. He can recall that about fifteen minutes in, his back had started to itch. He’d held out from trying to scratch it for another ten minutes, and then the itch had become the raw, sharp pain of an abrasion. That was also when Harry had finally given any indication he’d been in pain, too. Half an hour after that he’d been in fucking agony, and the only thing that had taken a tiny bit of the edge off of it had been Harry’s proximity and the way they’d unconsciously half-huddled together.

That, and Harry’s scent. A very normal response, Eggsy reasons, perfectly natural for an omega to be comforted by the scent of a familiar, capable alpha. Something niggles at his mind though, something about Harry’s normal scent –woodsy, a brewing storm, gun oil- being just slightly off, slightly _different._ After that, it was all blank.

Blinking back to himself, Eggsy glances at Harry uncertainly. “...wha’ happened, even? I’ve got nothing,” he admits grudgingly, twisting his neck to gawk behind him again -nope, still there- and hearing Harry sigh once more.

“...a very good question, actually,” Harry hums wearily and Eggsy turns back to watch his mentor slouch a bit more down into the chair he’s sitting on, long legs crossing at the ankle. Well, that’s not foreboding at _all_ , Eggsy thinks sarcastically.

Both of them perk up when the doors at the opposite side of the room open with a smooth click, Merlin striding through them with his eyes fixed firmly on his omnipresent clipboard. “Gentlemen. Back with the living again,” he greets them both, barely sparing them a glance, “And with extra accessories, no less.” And there goes Eggsy’s hope of it being a very, very vivid hallucination, welp.

“Merlin,” Harry greets the tech wizard with a nod of his head and an admirably steady half-smile, “What great timing. One would almost think you were keeping an eye on us.”

Eggsy can’t help the snort of laughter, caused mostly by the unimpressed look Merlin awards their Arthur. It has no effect on Harry, big surprise there, Eggsy has long since found out Merlin and Harry know the absolute fastest ways to get under each other’s skin and how to effortlessly shake off each other’s honestly terrifying glaring looks of reprove like dusting one’s hands. A gazillion years of friendship will do that, he supposes.

Merlin swipes Eggsy’s chart while keeping half a keen eye on the both of them. “How are you feeling? Any lingering effects from the darts should be out of your system by now, but just to be sure.” He flips a page on the chart, thus missing the bewildered looks Eggsy and Harry shoot each other.

“...I beg your pardon, darts?” Harry ventures finally and Eggsy can’t help how his gaze strays because the things on Harry’s back are moving, pulling in tighter against his shoulders and a row of feathers puffing up a tad. It’s distracting and a tad terrifying, if he’s honest.

Merlin looks up to squint at them both. When he only receives blank looks in return, he slowly closes the chart and crosses his legs before resting his folded hands on his knees. “...Lancelot and Percival were send in as your extraction,” he starts slowly, “and they reached you about an hour after I last managed to make contact with you. You were both quite out of it, and seemed to be in pain.” He reaches up to push his glasses a bit higher. “But when Percival came closer to check on you both, _you_ -” he levels an accusing finger at a startled Eggsy, “lost your sodding mind and attacked him.”

Eggsy feels his face drain of blood, only vaguely registering Harry’s bitten-out ‘ _what_?’ while he feverishly tries to grasp at the tiny fragments of memory that skitter in and out of his focus. No wonder that, if they’d been darted.

“Percival reported your movements were slower and less coordinated than usual,” Merlin drags him back into the story, “and that he would have been able to subdue you without any trouble if our Arthur hadn’t tried to maul him from behind.”

This time Eggsy doesn’t really need the wings to read Harry’s reaction because Harry freezes up almost imperceptibly, but the clenching of his hands is obvious to Eggsy. He would really like to hide the other man away in his wings so Harry could compose himself in the privacy of their cover while Eggsy ran his fingers soothingly through his hair-

He jumps -not at all guiltily, shut up- when Merlin clears his throat loudly and pointedly while squinting at the both of them assessingly. Eggsy -not for the first time- has the wild, sinking suspicion Merlin can see in perfect high-definition what’s going through his mind. He forcibly imagines JB curled up in his basket, snoring like a fucking chainsaw, just in case.

And speaking of whatever his traitorous brain is cooking up, _what the fuck_? Eggsy’ll be the first one to admit to some less-than-platonic daydreams about his mentor, but most of those have up till now featured Harry as the one doing the, ah, protecting and shit, like any alpha worth their salt strives to do. So, this? This is Weird.

Well, not as weird as the _wings_ , but- “The first results of your bloodwork are being analyzed right now but so far we have found nothing immediately alarming, and your markers are also looking normal-” Eggsy half-consciously tunes Merlin’s voice out, shooting Harry a glance from the corner of his eye. The other man is sitting ramrod straight and completely silent, the picture of focus. But his wings are twitching sporadically, a layer of tiny feathers ruffling and smoothing down intermittently.

***

It takes for-fucking-ever for Merlin to finish his interrogation slash chewing out about _awareness of your surroundings, Galahad_ cleverly disguised as a debrief, and when the man finally moves to leave it’s with a foreboding warning to sit tight till they can do ‘some tests’.

Eggsy takes this as Merlin-speak for ‘prepare to spend the next few days away from your nice, comfy bed’ and he collapses back against the -actually not all that shabby- infirmary bed with a pitiful groan. He springs back up immediately when he manages to bloody painfully pin the left wing under his own body-weight and the groan he utters this time is loud enough to have Harry shoot him a commiserating grimace from where he’s perched elegantly on his own bed.

“This sucks.” Eggsy moodily stares up at the ceiling while folding his arms across his chest grumpily. From the corner of his eye he sees a few feathers left of him twitch and puff up. Frowning a bit he reaches out to smooth them down and has another minor freak-out when his brain can’t exactly pinpoint _why_ he’s feeling the touch but most definitely sending out the signals. He looks up from contemplating whether or not to see if he can yank a feather loose- for science or summat- when Harry pushes to his feet to saunter over.

Eggsy spares a second to wonder if Harry had practiced and stumbled awkwardly the first time when trying to walk with those huge fucking things mucking up his equilibrium because right now he seems to have it down perfectly. Eggsy scoots up his bed a bit to make room so that Harry can settle down next to him, upper body tilted towards Eggsy in a weirdly intimate way.

Harry seems to be deep in thought, staring into the distance pensively. Eggsy eagerly takes the opportunity to ogle Harry from the corner of his eye now that he’s less likely to be caught doing it. The older man still looks tired and a few tight lines by the corners of his eyes betray his unease with the situation. But he still looks like he stepped straight out of a sodding Hollywood film, all distinguished and posh.

Even in the stupid hospital gown he’s wearing.

It’s bloody unfair, is what it is. Eggsy feels, and probably looks like absolute shite. He lets his eyes drift to Harry’s shoulders, watching how Harry’s wings rise and fall gentle with every breath.

It’s mostly an unconscious action when Eggsy stretches out his arm to the top ridge of Harry’s right wing (Harry’s wing, what the Hell) and has just enough time to think ‘they look wicked’ before the feathers poof up dramatically, Harry apparently startled. Eggsy freezes, snapping his eyes to Harry’s and finding him staring back.

He consequently has a front row seat to Harry’s expression blanking out perfectly, his honey-brown gaze going flat in about a millisecond.

Arthur’s pokerface is legendary among the knights and even with all the obsessive focus and memorizing of Harry’s fine face Eggsy can only see through it sometimes. Mostly when Harry lets him, he suspects. And as he’s gotten to know Harry, he’s also realized that the man likes his privacy and is very selective with what he chooses to share with the outside world.

Add the spy stuff to that, where it’s a pretty fucking essential skill to mask whatever’s going through your mind with something else?

Yeah, Eggsy can completely see how Harry would take extreme offense at the new feathery bits reflexively broadcasting every one of Harry’s unfiltered reactions.

Harry sits up straighter, and Eggsy recognizes the motion as Harry entering lecturing-mode, crap. “-’m sorry,” he forestalls what’s pretty likely a reprimand about gentlemen not touching people without warning and or permission and removes his hand hastily. He feels his own wings do something- weird- behind him, and Harry’s gaze locks onto them. “...what’re they doin’?” Eggsy ventures after a second, trying to get a look over his shoulder and mostly failing.

Harry tilts his head thoughtfully, his literally ruffled feathers smoothing down gradually. “They appear to be folding down, a bit?” He stares over Eggsy’s shoulder for a beat longer before a bemused frown tugs at his features. “Can you move them?” he asks, a note of curiosity creeping into his voice. 

Eggsy stills his somewhat guilty fidgeting to assess whether or not he can actually feel the new additions. After a second, he shrugs (he feels that, unfamiliar weight tugging at his muscles). “I dunno, I guess? Lemme just-“ He focuses on trying to figure out the mechanics of it but not knowing what he’s even looking for. Harry is watching him intently, chin propped up on his knuckles and the scrutiny makes Eggsy’s wings ruffle in reflex. And just like that it feels like he flipped a switch, opened up a door he wasn’t even aware of existing and both his wings snap open to their full width before he’s even aware they were going to move.

The right one smashes right into the little rolling table by the bed, sending it careening noisily across the tiles and into the wall and scattering a handful of wicked-looking medical instruments over the floor.

Knowing his rotten luck, they are probably Very Expensive and for a few seconds Eggsy fully expects Merlin to descend on him like an extremely irate, pay-docking avenging angel.

But there’s only ringing silence and slowly, Eggsy turns his wide-eyed gaze back to Harry. Who is not even trying to mask his amused smirk, the prick, and Eggsy feels a flush crawling up his cheeks. “There,” he mutters petulantly, shooting a dirty look over his shoulder when he feels the feathers floofing up. Traitors.

“A bit more dramatic than I’d expected, but well done nonetheless,” Harry comments drily while slowly standing up and starting to circle around Eggsy’s shoulder.

He’s suddenly so close and Eggsy can’t help the reflexive, hopefully discrete inhale he takes when Harry brushes against his arm. Because yeah, ever since Harry had strutted into his life, posh and fit as fuck and every inch the capable gentleman alpha, handing him everything he’d thought was impossible for someone like him, Harry’s scent had had the uncanny ability to soothe Eggsy’s pain and stress just by Harry being near.

And right now? _Stressed_ is kind of a major understatement.

He was half-expecting it, but it’s still bitterly disappointing that the other agent’s natural scent is almost completely masked by the chemical smell of hospitals everywhere. Deflating, Eggsy cranes his head back to track Harry behind him, the tiny part of his brain that’s chanting ‘Harry, Harry, Harry’ every hour of the bloody day perking up and insisting the hospital-smell is not the only thing different about the other man’s scent.

His train of thought is interrupted by Harry’s fond, soft laugh. “I do think they suit you quite well,” he murmurs, “Can you see them like this?” Oh right, his _wings_. Eggsy contorts his upperbody, drawing his lower lip into his mouth while concentrating on making the bloody things move. He can’t really form a complete image, just flashes of black and white and he groans in defeat. “I ain’t _that_ flexible, bruv. Gimme a mirror, then,” he states.

Harry shoots him an unimpressed look. “I’ll just take the bloody thing off the wall then, shall I? No, up you get, you lazy thing, come on.” Eggsy lets out a mournful whine which Harry ignores so then he petulantly kicks off the sheet covering his legs after a second or two, hauling his severely misbalanced body up and out of the bed. “Alright, I’m up, keep yer hair on,” he grumbles while shuffling after Harry and grinning brightly at the look Harry shoots over his shoulder.

Eggsy notes he was most definitely right to expect his balance to be fucked up and he flails in place for a second before cautiously shuffling after Harry.

Harry’s two steps in front of him and Eggsy takes the opportunity to ogle the other man’s wings unashamedly. They’re big, strong-looking, folded neatly against Harry’s hospital gown-clad back. His eye falls to between the wings and he sees them disappearing beneath the gown through two very much non-standard slits in the fabric.

Unbidden, the image of Merlin long-sufferingly altering the garment so it would fit around the appendages pops up and he lets out a snort. Who is he kidding, Merlin most definitely delegated that to a minion.

“Right then,” Harry startles him out of his musings, “I’m afraid it’s going to be quite cozy, but needs must.”

Eggsy watches him halt in front of the mirror and feels another surge of that slightly terrifying fondness, the one that makes his lizard brain whisper hopeful things about _mine_ and _forever_. It becomes almost overwhelming when Harry peers into the (far too tiny) mirror mounted above the washing basin with a tiny frown pinching his mouth.

He’s probably trying to be subtle about the way he starts fiddling with his hair, grimacing when he fails to smooth out the wavy curls breaking out of their carefully styled hold. He seems to reluctantly give it up as a bad job and turns his attention to his new additions.

Frankly, Eggsy is surprised Harry even waited this long to take a look.

Now that Harry is studying the wings, Eggsy feels wholly unapologetic about doing the same. He was right about them being big, he notes when Harry extends them to their full span. Very controlled and without causing property damage in the process, bloody show-off.

The wings are mostly a rich black, save for the outermost part, of which the the shade matches Harry’s hair almost perfectly. Eggsy would know, wouldn’t he.

He crowds in a bit closer to better see the way Harry runs hesitant fingers through the longest, rich auburn feathers and he tilts his head curiously when the artificial light hits the wings as Harry lifts them up a bit. The part he’d thought of as black is actually littered with neat, gently curved lighter lines.

All in all, they look badass. Very distinguished at first glance, but subtly flashy when you take a second look, much like Harry himself.

Or, well. Scratch _subtly_ , actually, because the way Harry twists moves the gown a bit and Eggsy catches a flash of the least inconspicuous shade of green ever at the very base of the wings. _Bloody_ _typical_.

“Right, my turn, yeah?” Harry steps aside obligingly, not at all trying to hide the way his eyes stray to the things on Eggsy’s back. And if looks as if Harry’s eyes briefly stray to his arse, well, he probably imagined it, didn’t he.

Eggsy squashes the urge to preen, lest he hit Harry square in the face or something stupid like that and focuses on carefully unfolding the wings.

The first thing he registers is _bright_ , and that the shade of almost offensive orangey-yellow reminds him faintly of his black and yellow jacket. _Wicked_. The color starts at the tops of the wings, fading out into black with a shock of white slashing through the middle.

Grinning, Eggsy twists his torso to get a closer look, marvelling at the glossy sheen over the feathers. It’s purely coincidence that he catches Harry’s eyes in the mirror and witnesses a most confusing, almost besotted look on the man’s face before it smooths out into neutrality when he notices Eggsy staring.

“Sorry Harry, but this is clearly my win, I mean look at this. _Sick,_ ” Eggsy states brashly while throwing his arms wide to match the span of his wings, instead of lingering on the look because he recognizes the evasive glint in Harry’s eyes. And he knows how to pick his battles, thanks.

He’s awarded one of Harry’s eye-crinkling, fond smiles, one that makes his toes curl helplessly with the familiar yearning to kiss it off Harry’s face and bare his throat for the man like a stereotypical omega from his mum's trashy novels he most definitely doesn’t read. Less familiar is the urge to back Harry up against the wall, to slide his fingers into that glossy hair and tilt his head so he can suck a vivid mark high on his throat for everyone to see, definitely _not_ like said omega. But hey, he can work with that, because _hot damn_.

[ ](http://i67.tinypic.com/hrww11.jpg)

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points if you guys can figure out which (actual!) birds I used as inspiration for their wings ♥


End file.
